Sharingan
by if.the.plane.goes.down
Summary: Red eye
1. Computer

Face down in the dirt, the sour taste of warm wet earth filled his mouth. Nudging at his lips, the thick fur of the grass stalks itched incessantly. But there was nothing he could do about that. He drew a shuddering breath, grateful that his ability to capacitate his lungs with air was still there. If there was nothing else left there was that. And the harsh throbbing of his heart. But every half second he was praying that that wouldn't stop. And for every other half second he was watching.

The Eye worked almost of it's own accord, now. It was a surveillance camera. Clicking and whirring and spinning. Through the thin film of red he could just make out oblong shapes and concrete silhouettes, but with it's processing beam, details didn't really matter. He was half tempted to reach up and lower his hitai-ate down over it, shutting it out, but he let The Eye have at it. Often times when he was alone like now, enabled with enough time to count the measured cycles of the toma, and listen to the furious whirring he felt like a freaking computer. But considering all that had happened, he had decided long ago that he was no longer human. So at least being a computer gave him something to be.

A sharp blast of pain bolted through his left arm, threatening to wrench it free of the socket. He closed his eyes tight and clenched his teeth until the radiation passed, but wouldn't allow himself to make any sound. He was protected from view by the tall marsh grasses, but if he cried out they'd surely find him. They may have been stupid, but they weren't deaf. And with a wry knowing smile he admitted to himself that he was too battered to take on a fair fight.

Using just the slightest movements he slid soundlessly from his belly and moved into a kneeling position, cradling the rotten arm between his thighs. Calculating, the whirring Eye spun the circumference of everything within a hundred mile radius, limited only by his mental will. There in the distance. He quickly figured his time frame. The left arm was already broken so he reasoned that further damage to it wouldn't make any difference. He pressed his palm to the ground supporting it with the stronger right arm. His head wrenched free of his neck and bounded up into the sky, suddenly alive with the jolt of adrenaline that often possessed him when there was a chance at blood on the horizon.

He bit down on his bottom lip and ho-hummed a quiet tune. He could hear the squadron of about five or six approaching. But more importantly he could see them, because The Eye never failed. Which was more than he could say for himself. But later on, if any of the approaching ninja survived, they wouldn't remember the melody of his soft humming, or any insecurity on his part. Only the cold reflective hatred of the eye. He would make sure of that.

He could plot their body heat coordinates and pinpoint them to the micro centimeter, as they crept forward oblivious to their imminent death. He let the whirring pace the work of his muscles. His wrist flexed, fingers became eggshells cracking open. 1,000 birds. They were just above him now. He rose quickly, his hand alight with a crackling electricity that would continue to sizzle there long after the chakra had been dispersed.


	2. Flesh

Often times he wondered why he couldn't see other things beside the constant curtain of red with the Sharingan. He would have liked to see his future. May' be. The swollen moon faces of the children he might one day get up the courage to have. The breath of the woman he might someday get up the courage to hold on to, instead of reveling in their bodies and then trading them out for newer models every inevitable second like the coward he was. Or rather he pretended not to be.

There was bravado in The Eye, And bravado in his character. Kakashi Hatake the unyielding stone face. Pretention was a noose. That hung delicately from his neck awaiting command. And sometimes he wished to just off the battlement into the whoosh of empty air and the satisfying SNAP at the end.

And sometimes he wished he could see his own death. But then he was afraid. He knew he would never be able to stomach his final moments, and thoughts of himself belly up often drove him to sleepless nights on his rooftops bouncing stars off the rims of sake glasses. He'd once been told that wishing stars were guardian angels. But the old coot who'd told him so was long dead now, and all the wishing never seemed to offer him any aid. In the end he hoped he Went where no one could see him. Death incognito.

Standing on the grounds of the hero's memorial , he reached out a charred hand and pressed the blistered palm to the stone. The cool marble eased the self afflicted burn marks. They were from his anger and from all of the chakra he had worked up into that stupid lightning blade. A move perfected by The Eye. Which was all so horribly wrong. So wrong that at times he felt like crying, but that was laughable. So he ended up with fried palms instead.

Blazes. He was foolish. Believing in second chances. And that the constant whirring was the dead boy's whispers in his ears. But it was only that he had voices in his head. He was crazy.

Half wit rain begins to fall. He allows his hand to run down the stone, reading the names carefully even though he's memorized them in order several times over. The etched in names are uneven surfaces, scratch at his hands, the blisters pop. But he pays no mind to this, he would have picked them open later anyway.

He lifts his headband. He's searching for faces in the stone. Faces to match the names to. And then bodies to match with the faces. And auras. And smiles. And souls. And people. He wills himself to see it. Straining, squinting, trying so hard it hurts. The sharingan whirring feverishly, spinning furiously. But to no avail. Aimless. Worthless. Stupid.

He stands in the rain under a coat of sorrow. And it almost manages to break through his stone surface. But then he closes his eyes. And lowers his headband. And turns his back on the stone and walks away.

There are some things even the Sharingan can never see.


End file.
